Alias
by aaronp6500
Summary: After almost two years, a previous course of events has changed the two of them since they first met, and now more begin to unfold once Natasha Romanoff, a.k.a. Black Widow, steps back into Peter Parker's life. With more secrets being revealed, and a new enemy in Peter's life, one which Natasha has already fought, their friendship is tested. Sequel to "Spidey Meets the Black Widow"
1. Her

**(A/N): So, after many months, the long-awaited sequel to _Spidey Meets the Black Widow_ is finally here. In addition to this special treatment, I've kicked if off with two chapters instead of usually one. Just a quick review, this story takes place after the events of _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ and _The Amazing Spider-Man 2. _So if you haven't seen either one of those films yet, I would recommend doing so because spoilers are ahead throughout the entire story following the events of both of those films. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Alias**

Her

It was a sunny Thursday outside, and the day was still alive and well in New York, waiting for more to be planned and spent doing something fun for the evening, otherwise it would be such a waste of nice weather. Peter Parker on the other hand, had nothing better to do this afternoon, except, perhaps, doing what he does best in the form of his red and blue vigilant alter ego. Other than that, what more was there to look forward to?

Sure, he applied to five different colleges, three of them being Ivy League schools (Harvard and Princeton to name a few, despite settling for a college in New York), and this was supposed to feel like a big turning point in his life, yet, that's not at all what it felt like. To him, it wasn't that sunny outside, only a slight overcast. It didn't feel like Thursday at all, but rather Monday. The streets were covered with hundreds of pedestrians 24/7, but to him it seemed like he was walking alone, and that the pedestrians were just pieces of miscellaneous objects on the ground, sort of like trash being blown through the wind, waiting for someone to pick them up, and bring them back to where they belong, setting them on the right track again.

He thought he could shake it off, the feeling and all, but no matter what he tried, or what he did as some way of sublimation to deal with his trauma, the reality of not having his high school sweetheart by his side any longer remains forever ingrained in his subconscious, and leaves a huge scar across his heart. The scene plays in his mind over and over again, sometimes spontaneously. For the first few weeks after swinging back into action, things sort of felt better. But eventually, as time went on, there was no fighting it. It was obvious, the pain, the grieving. It was still there. The idea of knowing that it was his fault for what happened to her, and that he could no longer make up for it just couldn't be erased.

Peter Parker walked _alone_ on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking downwards instead of forward, just to count the number of squares he stepped past. He had on his olive green t-shirt with a v-neck, some Levis and a pair of Nikes. Some headphones connected from his phone in his pocket played in his ears. A slight breeze blew across his face and around his cheeks, which would otherwise soothe his nerves.

He opened the door leading into his house, pulled out his headphones and just looked around the house for a moment. He then closed the door back, and slowly made his way towards the steps, and was just about to continue making his way up until a voice caught his attention. It was just like that. The voice was strikingly familiar, though, he didn't understand how it could be. _Aunt May wasn't supposed to be home, was she,_ Peter thought to himself. She was supposed to still be at the hospital, doing her usual training from eight to six . . .

The young adult at this point stopped dead in his tracks as if all the neural impulses in his body suddenly came to a halt, like the chain reaction of an entire line of cars on the road abruptly caught in traffic due to merely one accident. This nearly caused him to trip, as if he felt the impact of the crash. Rather than immediately turn his head to the source of the voice, he kept his head to the ground, more intrigued by the sound of the voice rather than the voice itself. Or rather, who it was that spoke.

"Long day?" the soothing voice said.

Peter finally turned his head, and then stepped back down the steps to further approach the so-called 'intruder' in his home. His face was more perplexed than anything. He stepped closer, and closer, needing to get a better view from where he was over at the stairs. Then his eyes met with the other. For a split second, all time and reality seemed to stop and not even exist. It's that kind of feeling one gets when they see something with such astonishment that nothing else around them seems to matter at the very moment; their brain just shuts it all out. For Peter, this phenomenon was apparent.

It was 'her'. She was standing in his living room. Her blonde hair tied up in a pony tail that hung over her back, wearing her favorite gray sweater with her pink shirt under, and her skirt to match with it. It was Peter's own stereotypical image of her set in his mind. When he thought of her, he thought of her wearing that outfit all the time. And perhaps the most intriguing factor about 'her' at this moment was that she was smiling. That same big happy smile that made him once feel much intimidated by her beauty before he got to talk to her. The same smile that made him smile as well. The same smile that made him feel warm inside. The same smile that reassured him that life can go on, no matter what happened. Why was she smiling, he thought to himself. Why, after he allowed her to just fall to her death, would she be smiling like she is now? As if none of it ever happened? It began to mock Peter. Everything about her suddenly began to start mocking him and tooling with his emotions. Even her smell, too. That sweet smell of perfume that seemed to spread from hundreds of feet away, that could track him down wherever he is at any given moment–

Peter jerked his head away and covered his face with his arm. He kept telling himself in his mind that it wasn't real, that she was still gone. He told himself for the sake of his own sanity and so that he wouldn't torture himself any longer, but at the same time he still wished for her to be a part of his daily life.

He then looked back up, in fear, to see if she was still there. And she wasn't, only the furniture in the living room. He didn't notice at first, but he was panting; panting really hard, as if he had just been faced with a life or death situation. And he was sweating, too, intensely. For all he knew, it _was_ a life and death situation.

He managed to get up to his room and throw all of his stuff on the floor and lied on his bed, covering his face with his hands, wanting to scream, even if it would only be muffled.


	2. Long Time, No See

**Long Time, No See**

Aunt May still wasn't home yet. It would be another two hours until she got back. She was arriving home later from her job this time around. She still was training as a nurse so that she could pay the rent somehow. But it didn't bother him. Well, at least not the training part, but walking home later when it's a little darker out concerned him more.

Peter went downstairs to get a glass of water. But again, another interruption prevented him from doing so. It was another voice, but not from 'her'. And for some reason this one felt more real. More concrete. The words hammered into the air, not being mistaken for some illusion this time. Peter knew the difference (or at least he thought he did) between what was real and what was not. He heard and saw the 'intruder' speaking before he even made it into the kitchen.

"Well this is new," the 'intruder' spoke. "Spider-Man not saving the day, and instead relaxing on a Thursday afternoon?"

He didn't forget her face. He knew that well before and well after they had parted. No one ever forgets a black widow when they see one.

"Agent Romanoff," Peter said in astonishment, not expecting to see her again anytime soon. Yet there she was, sitting in his living room. What surprised him more was to see that she wore casual clothes and not her signature catsuit. She had on a brown leather jacket over a black tank top, and some jeans with a pair of sneakers.

"Yep, it's me," she said with a smile. "I'm sorry for making unexpected entrances, including breaking and entering, but, let's be honest, this is kind of a normal thing for me now, isn't it?"

Peter smiled. "Yeah. Sure."

He walked over to the sofa across from her, and stood next to it, nervous for some reason, but reassured himself that she . . . well, was enough for him to be called a friend. She sympathized with him, did she not? She obviously was concerned for his wellbeing, so why wouldn't she be considered a friend at this point? Perhaps the passing of time.

"It's been a while, I'd say," Natasha spoke. "Things have changed much."

"Yeah. Yeah, they have," Peter awkwardly replied.

"You're not surprised to see me?"

"Well, yeah, but-

"A woman breaks into your house and that doesn't alarm you in any way?"

"You just got here abruptly after . . . nevermind."

"Okay. Well, I guess since you don't seem to mind, I can just break in whenever I please," Natasha said as she slouched in her seat.

"No, let's not."

"It was a joke."

Peter was quite intrigued by the Black Widow's sense of humor that she seemed to portray. Before, she always seemed quite serious and professional about everything, but now wasn't so. Something about her seemed kind of off.

"So how has life been?" Natasha asked. Peter hesitated for a moment.

"Eventful," Peter said kind of quietly.

"Same."

"So, I'm assuming Fury sent you here?"

For some reason, it took some seconds for Natasha to answer.

"No, actually. He didn't send me this time." This surprised Peter.

"Oh," Peter muttered with wonder.

"SHIELD's kind of . . . in disarray, if you will. It's . . ."

Peter didn't understand what she was trying to tell him, and Natasha wasn't sure exactly if she wanted to. SHIELD is very much a covert organization, and even when it was fully functional, it was not to be taken lightly and told around like some folktale. But now, knowing what it truly is, what was the point of hiding it anymore? About all of the agents within the entire division are now exposed at this point to the entire world, including Natasha herself. It was merely useless to try and defend something that no longer needed to be defended at this point.

"SHIELD . . . has been compromised," Natasha finally managed to pull out. "It's no longer functional at the moment."

Since Peter wasn't so involved in SHIELD, besides the fact of being wanted for recruitment, he didn't have any sort of feelings for the organization whatsoever. He really didn't even feel any sympathy to hear that it fell apart. Though, he didn't expect to hear that sort of news from the Black Widow.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked. Natasha didn't care anymore at this point. She had no reason to hold it all in. She knew Peter didn't care, and that it wouldn't hurt him to know.

"It turns out that another organization - a terrorist organization - that we swore was defeated long ago, infiltrated SHIELD, and was operating within us all along."

This little detail for some reason made Peter a little more interested.

"Who were the terrorists?" Peter curiously asked.

"They're called HYDRA." Saying the name alone made Natasha uncomfortable. Just to know how more advanced they really are now and what they were capable of somewhat gave her chills. "They rose during World War II, previously as a branch of Nazi party. Captain America, who also existed at the time, had helped put an end to their schemes, but only for a while, as it turns out."

"So no one ever noticed that they were sabotaging SHIELD from the inside?"

"No. No one did. Not until me and the Captain himself found out together."

"You and Captain America?" Natasha nodded.

"We worked together quite frequently under SHIELD's orders since his unfreezing from the ice he was submerged in for decades. He was a good partner. I owe him my life.

"It's strange. When I look back on it, my life seemed like it was a lot less complicated, even though it wasn't. At least then I was oblivious to the fact that I was really working for the enemy. Ignorance is bliss, I guess."

"So you're no longer an agent of SHIELD?" Peter inquired.

"Apparently not," Natasha sort of answered. "For the first time, the whole world kind of knows who I am now. Do you remember on the news?"

Peter's eyebrows caved in, indicating his confusion. He didn't watch the news too much. The only time he did was when his Aunt May would have it on in the morning before school.

"It more than likely aired on C-SPAN when I had to speak on Capitol Hill, or some channel like that. You could probably even Google it right now. But anyways, almost thousands of agents are now exposed to the public, and, as much as it is HYDRA's fault, I hold a lot of responsibility," explained Natasha.

"Why?"

"Because, I'm the one who leaked that information to the public." Now Peter was really confused. "I had to because we had already planned for SHIELD, or rather HYDRA at that point, to go down as well, and that included making the sacrifice of letting all of the secrets go."

"So all of those people in the whole world, their friends, families, co-workers, acquaintances all know who they really are?" Peter said, getting the gist of how absurd it all sounded.

"Unfortunately. What's worse is that we still don't know who's really with SHIELD and who's with HYDRA."

After she said that, the thought of the mystery with affiliations suddenly had the hair standing on Peter's neck. Peter knows how friendly she was before with the whole recruitment situation, but still, there was only so much he knew about Natasha. He knew that she was in the KGB. He knew that was the truth. Why did he know? Because she told him that, and he believed it_. _But how does he know that wasn't just a cover for her to use whenever it came time for where she needed to give her backstory? How does he know she isn't with HYDRA herself?

It was all starting to frustrate Peter right now, and he didn't want to keep treading along with it. Maybe he was too scared to want to worry at the moment. He just kept reassuring himself that she was a friend. He believed it.

"So what's going on with you?" Natasha asked, turning the attention away from her. "You've graduated high school now, right?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "Finally done with that."

"You must be relieved. Now you get to deal with the 'big boy' science stuff. With your credentials you could probably even get a job at Stark Industries. Lucky for you, I know the man himself; I could maybe get you a spot, then you can go to college and still have work on the side."

Peter smiled. It didn't sound like a bad idea, actually. But for the most part he knew he didn't have the time for it. Not now, anyways.

"Thanks, but, I've got some other things to deal with at the moment," Peter said. "Being Spider-Man and all."

"Well, from what I saw the day we met on that rooftop, you handled those thugs pretty well. Is cleaning up the streets really that difficult for you?" Natasha made sure not to also mention the other time she saw his full potential from that simulation before.

"Things have changed since."

"Since what? That night?"

"Not just that night, since . . . Connors and all. It isn't just criminals on the streets anymore. My enemies are becoming . . . more personal. And powerful."

"There's always going to be someone to try and challenge the leader. Someone who thinks they're better."

"I'm not a leader."

"Why's that?"

"Because, I'm just not. No one follows after me."

"Well, that's not true."

"How do you know?"

"Well for one, people own Spider-Man merchandise now and even do graffiti after you. And, being a leader doesn't just have to be for other people, it can be for yourself, which you are one."

"Am I?"

"Yeah, because you were enough of a leader for yourself to know what was best for you when you talked to Nick Fury."

There was yet another moment of silence in the room.

"So, I hate to kill the vibe, but what exactly are you doing here again?" Peter asked, trying his best not to make that sound too derogatory. Natasha smiled.

"Well, with me taking a new identity and all, since I have to disappear from the public, I'm just getting by with life, kind of living free for the first time, I'd say. And since I happened to be in New York, I decided why not pay a visit."

"You figured I'd still be staying with my Aunt May?"

"I know you better than you think."

_Isn't that the truth, _Peter thought to himself.

"How's the girlfriend?" Natasha asked next.

That's when the spy noticed a change in Peter's expression. It went from engaged to deadpan. She had no idea. And in the back of his mind it kind of puzzled Peter that she didn't know. He swallowed before trying to break the news to her. He didn't like to talk about it. Reminding him of it only made it worse.

"She uh . . ." He paused. Natasha raised an eyebrow.

"Dumped you?" she guessed.

"No," Peter firmly stated. "She . . .

Peter had a certain look on his face. It wasn't the kind of expression someone can just put on. It wasn't something a person could just act out. It was an expression that showed damage. It showed loss. It showed tremendous grief, despair, mourning . . . and Natasha knew that look from anywhere. She knew how to read people very well, and she was unfortunate enough to have to have seen this one once too many times.

Her heart almost dropped. She couldn't believe it, but it was true. There's hardly much people she can feel actual sympathy for, though Peter was one of them because of their past experiences together. The idea of him losing something that was so dear to him, the fact that even though he stepped out of the line of joining an organization – which in itself was doomed from the start – for the sake of his loved ones, the people he cared for the most in this world, and in the end he still lost someone, nearly broke Natasha's heart. She was more shocked than torn, but there was still something she felt within her that brought her expression blank. She wore a blank face that covered up triggers of emotions. It was her natural defense mechanism.

"I . . ." Natasha started, and then stopped. She barely had room for words to describe. "I'm so sorry."

He just looked at her, and then back at the wall. He'd cried enough, and he wasn't going to do it again. Peter started to feel bad for making Natasha feel the same way he did, despite never really knowing if she was being truthful with her emotions, or anything at all for that matter. They were only to have a nice conversation after having been nearly two years since seeing each other. Now it's still only more drama when they meet. There's always something going on. They could never be good friends this way, only allies.

After a while of her speaking for the majority of the time, Natasha had only wanted to change the subject so that she could hear how much better he was doing without the involvement of SHIELD in his life, and now it's no much better than how it could've been from the start. She felt failure. She felt like she failed at what she tried to do – for his own good – which was to keep him out of the life of espionage and everlasting danger. But danger, as it seems, was always there. It's everywhere, wherever one goes. There's no stopping it, no matter how much people wish to. Especially not for Natasha.

"How did she die?" she asked, already knowing it wasn't an accident.

Peter hesitated, and then finally spit it out. "One of my um . . . 'enemies' . . . killed her. I thought he was my friend, but I was stupid enough to believe it. I'd known him since we were younger. That was before he became the monster he is now."

He looked at her, and then looked away.

"I thought I was okay after a while. I thought . . . that I was, I don't know, re-inspired to go out again and do what I do best because of her. To help people. But I had myself fooled."

Natasha wished she knew something that she could say in order to help him, but she remained withdrawn. She never knew what to tell to people mourning. It wasn't a special skill she had out of all the things she could do. She only said what she'd heard other people say many times before.

"You're not responsible for what happened," she said. Peter shook his head.

"Actually, I am. I'm the one who refused to follow her father's orders: to leave her out of all of this; to keep her safe by keeping her out of this lifestyle. He and I knew that being in a relationship with her would only make her life less safe, and because my enemies would try to hurt me . . . through her. And I completely disobeyed what he said, knowing what might happen, which it did."

Peter was tearing up the more he spoke. He was going to cry after all. Natasha tried saying something else. Something to reassure him that the world wouldn't end.

"She'll always be there, Peter."

"I know. And that's the problem."


	3. Regrets

**Regrets**

_Brooklyn, New York_

Night had fell over New York. The moon lit up in the sky along with the thousands of other lights emitted from countless skyscrapers towering above over the vast city. The action wasn't as close by to where Peter lived, with the lights and all, but the crime, on the other hand, was inevitable. It wasn't old news that crime was always around in New York, especially Brooklyn. It has seemed to get a little better over the years, but it's always the same.

Peter was in his room, looking through his closet out of boredom. Any other day this would seem odd for some sort of form of entertainment, but today he was really bored. He always knew there were quite a few things in his closet, but he never really took the time to see exactly everything there was. Things were just kind of thrown in there, and very many to never be seen again. Today though, he was going to see just how much he really had stored up in his closet. It seemed fascinating to go look through old things from his earlier years. He got to remember and re-experience old memories and artifacts from his past.

His head felt silent. There was barely any sort of cognitive activity going on besides taking in everything his eyes captured around him. No form of brainstorming or even thinking about what he did this morning came to mind. It was probably because he was soon ready for his slumber, but he wasn't quite that tired yet.

He sat down in his closet with the light on, the only thing in the entire darkness of the room which was lit, and looked through everything he had. A Rubik's Cube was pulled out, one still incomplete, then an old school binder probably from middle school, and a yearbook from middle school. In his head, he laughed at his younger picture. It always felt awkward to see pictures of himself as a child.

After what felt like hours of him sitting and looking through his closet, Peter finally called it a night. He got up and slowly walked out the closet door and was about to close it and turn its light out until the faint picture of him and Gwen caught his attention. He almost missed it since it was on the opposite side of the door where there was no light, but the closet light spread through the half-open space of the door. It was a picture of them from last year. It was their senior year. She still had that same smile, always full of joy and happiness. Then he started to remember things. Like the time he made her lose her smile. It was the time he made her go from happy to sad in a matter of seconds. He told her that it wasn't going to work between the two of them because he felt guilty for not complying with her father, George Stacy, or Mr. Stacy, as Peter referred to him as. But in the end, he didn't sick through with it. He went back to her. And now she had to pay the price.

That's when his Aunt May came home from her training at the hospital. She had called for him to let him know that she was home, and he came downstairs to see her. Exhaustion was clear over her expression.

"Hey, Aunt May," he said, really glad that she was home.

"Home sweet home," she said.

"You sound happy to be back."

"Today was pretty bad."

"A lot of people came in?"

"I don't even know if 'a lot' is enough to describe how hectic it was today. Then again, it's summertime. You can expect a lot of stupid teenagers doing stuff they have no business doing – no offense."

Peter smiled. "None taken, Aunt May."

"What all did you do today?"

"Nothing really," Peter said, since it was true.

"You didn't go out anywhere?"

"I did, but I didn't do much. Just walked around, really. Went to Central Park and stuff, and then came back here."

"Oh, you really walked," said Aunt May, astounded by the distance it took to get there by foot. Peter has done it before, though.

"It was nothing," he said, knowing in the back of his mind that he didn't just 'walk,' but found another particular way to get there as well.

"Well it's good you're getting your exercise," his Aunt said with a smile. "God knows I've been."

She threw her keys and purse on the kitchen table, tired of carrying them.

"I'm going to bed early," said Peter, as he walked over to her.

"Okay, good night," Aunt May said as she hugged him and kissed him on his cheek. "Did you already eat?"

"Yeah, before you came."

"Okay."

"Good night."

With that, Peter made his way back up to his room, turning out the lights and lied on his bed. He didn't fall asleep as quickly as he thought he would. He only found himself staring at the white ceiling above. The whiteness of the ceiling at night gave it a smooth, crisp look to it. The distance between it and Peter seemed to not be there. It was like he could just put up his hand and he could slide his hand across its evenly flat surface. Over it, hundreds of images flashed from Peter's mind, making the ceiling a projector board of some sort. They were hundreds of images of memories. Everlasting memories. Of the two of them. Why couldn't he just let it go? When would he? He wished he could, but at the same time, to forget would be disrespect to her, and a burden on him.

* * *

_Manhattan, New York_

A woman with pretty fiery auburn hair walked the streets as the wind blew in her face, making the strands of her hair wave backwards like flares from a flame in the night sky. As far as she knew, she was a New Yorker. She was born and raised in the Bronx for all her life, and now resides in the island of Manhattan. Times get hard when it comes to making up enough to pay the rent, but she gets by the best way she can. She was 30-years-old working a job as a waitress by day and a bartender at a local nightclub by night. She has no close relationships with any sort of friends or family. Her name, as she knows it, is Cathryn Jones.

She knew that this was only a temporary thing. Staying in New York wasn't going to get her by living in secrecy for long. It was expensive to live in the Big Apple, and her cover wasn't going to make much progress very much longer. Working two jobs was already enough. Sooner or later she'd have to find another temporary identity and keep jumping to others until she can maybe settle on one. At least she didn't have to make any new friends along the way. The last thing she wanted was to get other people involved in her affairs. Cathryn Jones was an identity she picked up along the way. As much as she had become a changed person, or even a hero maybe given her recent actions, though, that's still quite debatable, the real Cathryn Jones got what she deserved. She was a no good, self-absorbed broad who wasted her life. She dropped out of college and decided that partying was the only answer to make up for her failure. For all she knew, her parents were probably idiots as well. They were a snobby, Caucasian, wealthy upper class couple with only one daughter. A bitch, as others saw her as. Everything about her was trash, despite having a wealthy background. But she was spoiled, like so often many rich kids are, unfortunately. Cathryn's identity thief knew she was to be her 'rightful victim.' To be honest, she felt her life was far more important than Miss Jones's.

Her place was just enough for her to live in for a short time. It was always dark. The only light that came through was from the paper-thin creaks missed by the black sheets put up on her windows to cover up. That was perfect for her, though. The least she was seen, the better. Whenever she wasn't working, she kept herself locked in for the most part, until she had to go out for food or something. She had enough clothes. Changing her appearance wouldn't be a problem. But the world knew who she was now. Keeping her face hidden as much as she could was crucial. Now she knows what it feels like to be a celebrity. Maybe now she can empathize with Stark. God, did she hate being in the spotlight.

The woman sat down on her bed, in nearly complete darkness except for the faint, dim light of her lamp only letting her see some things around her to some extent. She was alone, all by herself, and that was okay. She kept sitting for minutes and minutes, not doing anything, hardly doing as much as a blink. She didn't want to do anything. She didn't feel like it. The only thing she felt like was crap. She felt like crap because she felt somewhat guilty. But she had nothing to feel guilty for. She did nothing wrong to alter Peter Parker's life. It was Harry Osborne's wrongdoing that brought it upon him, not her. However, she couldn't help but feel bad because she did her best to keep him out of never-ending danger, failing to realize that he already was. Though, as hurt as she was for not being able to help him, despite her best efforts, for the first time she felt somewhat relieved to not be responsible for another's misfortune. It used to be always her to make the choice that others couldn't. And she would do it without a care. Though now, since a number of events that's happened in her life recently, having some care isn't a bad place to start for trying to at least be a hero. Normally, putting time into the life of a young adult, especially one a little more than half her age, would be considered a waste of breath for her, but Peter wasn't like the stereotypical young adult. He's ambitious, willing, committed. And he was smart, most importantly. Stupid people bothered her the most. They were a waste of her time. But if there was any sort of way for her to start building a friendship, intelligence was the first step.

But she didn't know if Peter considered her a friend or not. Maybe not. She wouldn't be surprised if he didn't. He had no reason to trust her. Even though she tried to make herself seem as friendly as possible, including the time she paid him a visit in Central Park last year, to her, that didn't mean much. She worked with intelligence, so that alone should say something. And she knew that only a few people were worthy of her trust; Clint, Fury, Steve, Hill . . . Coulson, even. The truth is a matter of circumstances. It's not all things to all people all the time, and neither was she. For once, she knows now that she's fighting for a better purpose. But even still, only so many would believe it. The world saw her for what she truly is. An enemy to the nation, and that's all they would ever see her as. No matter how much she would attempt to change and prove herself different, no one would care. Once it's been done, it's done.


	4. A Friend

**A Friend**

The following afternoon brought colossal gray clouds hovering in the sky over the city. It was more than likely to rain pretty soon. Hardly any wind was blowing. No birds were singing, no people outside laughing and talking. Everything was centered up at the gloomy clouds above, caving slowly in closer beyond Brooklyn. It was like a massive wall of gray making its way in the distance, as if hoping for the worst to come.

Peter was sitting at the table in the kitchen eating a bowl of cheerios, as he normally ate his breakfast later since he slept a lot, and his Aunt May kept sorting out things and preparing for work, wearing her navy blue scrubs under her green sweater. She then opened the fridge and closed it.

"Pete, you're still going to be out for most of the day, right?" she inquired.

"Yeah. Why?" he replied, anticipating what was next.

"Because we're low on milk and eggs. Can I trust you to bring that back before I come back home tonight?"

"Yes, Aunt May," Peter said, annoyed. "You don't have to keep pestering me about forgetting things."

"I'm just saying," the woman added.

Three knocks came from the door. Peter and Aunt May, both at the same time, immediately looked in that direction, and then at each other. It wasn't normal for them to have people knocking at their doors much. Not since . . . a lot of things.

"Uh . . ." Peter started, indicating that she should get it since he was already sitting down and still eating his breakfast.

The middle-aged woman then made her way to the door, seeing that it was what looked like a young lady through the blur of the front door window. This sparked much curiosity within May Parker, as the only lady who ever really came to visit used to be Gwen.

She turned the top lock on the door to the right, then the lock on the knob horizontal, and finally opened the door to see who it was. Peter watched from where he was. He was surprised she came to see him at this time of the day, knowing that Aunt May still hadn't gone to work yet. At least that's what he told her.

The girl had long nice red hair, and appeared to be much younger indeed, probably about Peter's age. It was the clothes she wore that said it all. A small gray hoodie, which we wore over her head, some skinny jeans, and a pair of black Converses made up to fit her seemingly young, bright spirit all the more. She had her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, and stood with a stature of someone obviously straight out of, or probably still in high school. But at least she looked nice, and not like anything slutty. Aunt May remembers rocking the style of her generation in her teens and embracing it, so it wasn't a big deal with her.

"Hi," the girl greeted politely. "We haven't met before, but I'm Cathryn – a friend of Peter's."

"Oh," Aunt May said, starting to piece things together. "You're a friend of Peter's." With that, she looked back towards Peter, who was sitting at the table still watching. He faked a smile towards his so-called friend and waved, to which she returned the same.

"Yeah," Cathryn replied.

"I was looking and wondering, 'Who is that?' We usually don't get visitors, so that's a surprise for us," May noted with a slight laugh, trying to come off friendlier now since she knew it was someone Peter knew. Cathryn laughed a little, too, trying to return the same friendliness. "I'm May, Peter's aunt. Or you can call me Ms. Parker." May put her hand out for Cathryn to shake it, to which she did.

"May's a pretty name," Cathryn complimented.

"Thank you."

"Well, I guess I should get to the reason why I stopped by. I just wanted to talk to Peter really quick about something, if that's okay with you?"

Aunt May turned her head back to him questioningly, to which Peter shrugged his shoulders a little and gave a look of loss in the whole situation. He looked at Cathryn, who just stared back, kind of hoping that he would pick up on what she was trying to do. The woman turned her head back to the young lady before her.

"That's fine," she said with a smile.

Peter then got up and made his way over to the door. May left to return to tending to her things that needed to be done before leaving for work, thinking that Peter was only discussing something that needed no further investigation into. She trusted him to do the right thing. After all, she practically raised him for most of his life. She knew the kind of person he was. Good, and only that, because that's all she ever raised him to be.

Peter stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

"Cathryn?" Peter asked, trying not to sound snide about the name.

"It's the only cover I could use for now," said Natasha, now breaking character. "This is only temporary. Anyways, we need to talk. Soon."

"About?"

"It's something important. Something that concerns you the most."

"Yeah, that seems to be the case a lot of the time."

"It's serious. It has nothing to do with recruitment or anything like that. Do you have plans for the rest of the day?"

"Not much. I just have to pick up a few groceries and-

"Okay, do you think you can stick around for a while so we can discuss what needs to be discussed?"

Stick around? It didn't necessarily have to seem like a date, but this was unusual. The last thing Peter thought the Black Widow and himself would be doing together was walking and talking around Manhattan.

". . . Yeah," he finally answered.

"Good. Meet me in 30 minutes at the Starbucks around the block."

"Sure."

Peter didn't know whether he made the right decision by choosing to take up Natasha's offer or not, but he felt that if he didn't, he'd be oblivious to what she had to tell him that was so important. If it had nothing to do with the initiative, which was on the behalf of SHIELD itself, which in turn is no longer functional, then Peter didn't understand what else Natasha needed to serve a purpose in his life, besides being an 'ally.' And still, some of his trust issues with her began to surface into his mind again just from that brief interaction.

"I know this is a surprise, but . . . at least I know I have a good reason to say that it's a hellalot important," said Natasha. Peter sure hoped it was, too.

"A good reason?" Natasha nodded.

Then Aunt May opened the door and had her purse over her shoulder.

"Well, I'm heading out for the day," she announced. "You be good."

"Alright, I will, Aunt May," said Peter, as he gave her a hug and kiss. Natasha stood sort of awkwardly as the two did so. Aunt May then looked at her.

"It was nice to meet you, Cathryn," she said, shaking her hand again.

"Nice to meet you, too, Ms. Parker," Cathryn replied with a smile.

"You two have a great day."

"You, too," Peter and Natasha said simultaneously.

May left the house and proceeded walking down the sidewalk in the direction of the hospital. Natasha looked back at Peter, quickly changing her sincere smile back to a serious gaze. Peter guessed that she was probably reading him since that's what she seems to do well with.

"I'll see you then," she said, as she walked off opposite of where Aunt May left.

He watched as Natasha disappeared. Not right before his eyes necessarily, as if into thin air, but into an ordinary citizen, which she wasn't. Just like that she could embody someone else; adapt to her environment like a chameleon. And once again, the two of them were having to meet places, it seemed.


	5. Cathryn's Place

**Cathryn's Place**

"You know, I think their lattes are kind of overrated," said Peter as he took a sip of his coffee, sitting across from Natasha at a small table. "Maybe I didn't put enough sugar, or creamer. I don't know."

"I was never much of a coffee lover anyway," Natasha replied. "I think coffee in general is overrated. It's just an energy booster. There's so many other ways to do that. Coffee isn't like this holy grail of wakeruppers."

"But when you're busy, and you don't have time for anything else, a cup of coffee wouldn't hurt."

"Well, let's just say there are a lot of things I don't have time for. Coffee's one of them."

Peter agreed with that one as well. Not just for her career, but his as well. For a moment, there was an awkward silence; more awkward for Peter given his feelings towards her. He could hold a decent conversation with her for a while, and actually still be somewhat engaged, but other than that, when they weren't talking, the energy between them in a way felt foreign, almost. Talking to her reminds him of when he used to talk to Gwen for the first time, before everything that came after. Peter tried doing something as little as looking out the window, pretending as if he was in some way occupied. The truth, however, points that Natasha acknowledges the awkward tension between them. To her, it was no surprise. She understood very well.

Peter felt more concerned about where her loyalties lied. They seem skewed, even after lending a helping hand in saving the world from an alien invasion. And even as he's sitting with her right now in a public area, him looking outside and seeing the number of people walking down the street, and seeing the number of people in the Starbucks now, he knew, in his heart, and even after what she tried to do for him, he still couldn't trust her.

"I understand how this may be a lot for you," she started, "but I need you to know that I care about your well-being just as much as anyone else."

When did she need to care about his well-being, Peter thought. Why did she care? All she's ever seemed to do was be genuinely nice to him for almost no apparent reason. Perhaps she did explain why back in Central Park a year ago, but it all made no sense to him. Why would she put so much time and energy in the life of an adolescent, or now young adult? From what Peter knows about her, Natasha seems like the selfish type; she would be the one to kill others to get her way. She wasn't a hero. Standing alongside The Avengers didn't make her a hero. She doesn't fit with that crowd.

"It isn't a lot, it's just . . . weird," he said. "Ten years ago I never would've thought the world could get as strange as it is now. And that was still when I had a wild imagination."

Natasha nodded slowly. "Yeah. Ten years ago I never would've guessed that I'd be fighting extraterrestrials. Life is full of surprises."

The two had left after twenty or so minutes. They talked more than expected. Both were surprised by this and each other. Natasha's apartment was their next stop. While walking down the streets, she reminded Peter to only refer to her as Cathryn in public. At first Peter believed she was exaggerating the seriousness of the situation, when really he was undermining it. With the entire world knowing who she is, including her real name and her common alias of Natasha Romanoff, someone out there would surely know how to put two and two together if they noticed someone referring to her as Natasha while indeed having red hair. Peter still thought that in a place like New York no one would be paying any attention to them at all, and that's when Natasha told him that's where he was at fault. He at first didn't understand what she meant by this, but she explained that you never know when someone's watching. She knew that from experience.

Natasha stayed in a more brokedown area of the city. It was obvious by the bricks of each building Peter saw. They all contained faded streaks of gray over them, indicating just how long they've been standing; surely for years and years, telling countless stories just by a glance. A lot of the windows needed some cleaning as well, as even from a distance one could tell they were badly stained. It had a sort of smell to it also. Peter looked up and saw a man poked out of his window, smoking a cigarette. He turned his head back straight to see a group of guys walking on the sidewalk across from them, one of them dressed in a dark hoodie and baggy pants, and the rest wearing other types of raggedy clothing. Peter's first instinct was that they were part of a gang, as that would be typical for young men dressed like so in the streets. This appeared to be one of those blocks in New York where something always had to be going down, and where no one was obliged to hold back from expressing themselves to full extent.

"Welcome to New York, huh?" said Natasha.

"This is pretty normal," Peter simply stated.

"Certainly not what they show on TV."

"No," Peter agreed all the way.

"I would've settled for the Bronx, but that's pushing it for me."

Peter found this amusing, as he would've thought the Black Widow possessed the necessary skills to adapt to the environment, no matter what the situation is. He guessed everyone had their preferences for a class of living.

"Too much to handle?" Peter lightly teased. Natasha looked at him with a certain look.

"Walking through there would be like a walk through Central Park," she replied.

They entered the apartment building. Already the place looked disgusting. Mold covered the walls and there were cobwebs filling in holes in every corner. It smelled much worse in here than outside. Peter wondered when the last time someone cleaned the place was. He could only imagine how many rodents got inside the place. Since she lived on the fifth floor, they took a trip up the stairs, which was also a gross experience. There wasn't as much mold on the walls fixed around the stairway, but that was substituted with lots of nasty cracks instead. Natasha pulled out her keys, which were also rusty and looked ages old, and stuck it through the lock and turned. She opened the door and she stepped in first, turning on the light and throwing her keys on the bed. Peter reluctantly stepped inside, for some reason feeling like it could be the last step he might take.

"Close the door behind you," Natasha said, as if Peter wasn't going to do that anyway. He did.

Once they stepped inside her place, the ugly smell disappeared. Instead it smelled kind of refreshing. He figured she must use air fresheners or something to make the place feel a little more comfortable. And her place didn't look as bad as it did on the outside. Natasha seemed to keep it somewhat neat and tidy as she could. Nevertheless, it still was nothing compared to his home.

"I know, I hate it as much as you do," she said, accepting the fact that her place was disgusting.

"Times get hard," Peter said, trying to empathize in some way.

"I have to lay low somehow. The chances of someone looking here aren't as high, and I won't get very much attention since the people around here have the average IQ of a raisin. So that's good. And it's more affordable than some newer place."

"That's true."

Standing in her place alone made Peter feel very uncomfortable. Even though it was clearly daytime outside, Natasha had her place tinted with black sheets on all windows to block out as much sunlight as possible, and to keep her hidden fairly well. If she really wanted to, she could pull something crazy on Peter right now, and no one else would know about it. But one other thing that Peter felt was some reassurance that if she actually did try something funny, his enhanced reflexes would let him know a second ahead. He believed to have the advantage in this sort of situation. Though, this is hypothetically speaking. Now, he could only hope for the best, and that she isn't the type of person he presumes she is.

"Alright, let me tell you what I need to tell you," she said quietly. The fact that she spoke so low kind of made Peter feel even more uncomfortable. "It concerns you only to an extent, but I can't take my chances."

Peter just kept listening.

"You remember when I told you about HYDRA?" she asked seriously.

Peter almost completely forgot about that conversation from before until she mentioned the name again now.

"That terrorist organization?" Peter inquired. Natasha nodded in response. "What about them?"

He hoped that whatever she was going to say next wouldn't be what he thought before.

"Some fellow agents from SHIELD have been secretly filling me in on new information about . . . anything. They've been off the grid as well. And from what we know is that there are still HYDRA agents out there."

Peter's heartbeat gradually escalated, whether he recognized it or not.

"So . . . are you saying that they're a threat to me, or something?" he asked. Natasha waited a moment before answering.

"We've heard that some of the agents that escaped had clearance to a lot of SHIELD's files, including classified operations. One of them included the operation that involved targeting a list of individuals who posed as potential threats known as Project Insight.

"Since recent events along with the fall of SHIELD, Project Insight has since been diminished, but HYDRA . . . we can't say the same for them. They're still out there, and they still want what they've always chased after. Absolute power. A perfect totalitarian society where they rule over everyone else. And they can't have anyone who would fight stand in their way. But Peter . . . you were on that list."

Utter shock came over his face. It was clear for her to see. Even after knowing that it no longer exists and that he is alive at this very moment, the thought of realizing he was on some fort of kill list frightened almost anyone. Ignorance to things like this made the world that much scarier. What made it worse for Peter was that he couldn't see his own enemy this time. To him they were invisible. He didn't know what HYDRA was until yesterday, and now all of a sudden he's told that they were meant to kill him.

"Why are you telling me this now?" said Peter. "You said Project Insight was diminished."

"Yes, but HYDRA lives on, and they know you still do as well. I can't be certain, but there is a possibility they'll still try to get you and others like you out of their way."

Peter took a deep breath.

"Why should I trust you?" he boldly asked. It was only a matter of time until Natasha had to answer to that. But she had almost nothing to say to convince him otherwise.

She shook her head slightly.

"You can't," she said. "I admit, you have no reason to trust me, and I accept that. But I wouldn't waste your time telling you that your life could be at stake for nothing."

With that, she had a point. Maybe she answered his question on why she was so invested in his life. Maybe she wasn't really _invested _in his life, she only came around when she felt it was important. This was important. She was here. Though, it was going to take more than circumstances for Peter to know the truth.

* * *

**(A/N): Sorry it took so long to update. Other complications came along the way, but I assure that other chapters are soon to come.**


	6. Follow My Lead

**Follow My Lead**

The day passed. That next morning, Peter woke up later than usual. A small streak of sunlight seeping through the crack of his window met directly at his eyes, accompanying him to a rude awakening. The quiet dimness of his room appealed to him more than bright and sunny. His hand rose to block the disturbing view, and raised his head from his pillow now penetrated with hours of heat and sweat. He looked at his alarm clock and saw that it was 11 a.m. Aunt May was more than likely still asleep. That's normal. He's used to waking up to a silent house.

Peter forced himself to get out of his bed and make his way over to the bathroom. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and then went downstairs. For some reason the place felt different to him. Perhaps the absence of his aunt this morning would be the reasonable explanation why, but something was off in his senses. It seemed as though they were going off in a response to a foreign environment. But this was home. This was home as he knew it. The same home he's lived in for years. Peter wondered what the big deal was. Then he started thinking about what Natasha told him yesterday, about HYRDA and all. Maybe he was still kind of spooked by the whole deal. Peter wasn't afraid to admit if something scared him, even to himself. The sooner he acknowledged that, the better he could work it out later.

With that, he felt it made some sense for his receptors to go crazy. The thought of being stalked wasn't going to slip by that easily. Despite not knowing to trust Natasha or not, he felt he couldn't take his chances with her being right, and him being wrong. In a way, he thought that he still didn't necessarily have to agree with her or not. Then Project Insight came into mind again. He was baffled by the fact that the name stuck in his brain. Since he first heard it from Natasha, he just went with referring to it as the kill list. He thought about all of the people living in the world now, about around nine billion or so, he presumed, and then thought about how he's only one person out of that nine billion. And then, still that one person, being targeted out of the rest. He knew countless others were to die as well. Natasha didn't even tell him that, but he knew well enough that there are enough people in the world for there to have been billions of them meant to die. However, the thought of knowing that he was part of that large percentage; the myriad of bodies piled up; it kept disturbing him. It was over. He knew that. But he still felt weird about it.

Peter went about fixing a bowl of cereal as usual for breakfast. He sat alone at the table, trying to take in the peace and quiet. But he was having a hard time doing that when his senses kept acting up. To them, there was no peace and quiet. They felt as though they were sensing some sort of signal; a frequency of some sort. Peter dismissed this, and kept eating.

He wondered if Natasha would come by again. She's been slipping by every day since two days ago. It would be no surprise if she made an appearance today as well. She also never did explain where she got the name Cathryn from. With her being a spy and all, taking on a new alias didn't seem quite unusual, and it was necessary, given her current circumstances. He still just wondered how difficult it was for her to find a new identity. He wondered how she even gone about doing so. It sounded rather difficult in itself. Identity theft is a recurring issue in the United States, but to go on for so long without being caught sounded rather risky. The Black Widow saw this as nothing more than an obstacle she felt she had no choice but to overcome. What used to be kill or be killed was now disappear or be killed. No one should have the slightest clue on her whereabouts, but she trusted Peter enough to tell him. This struck him oddly. If she was so willing to trust him, then the obvious would be to return the same amount of trust to her, but he wasn't falling for any tricks. He honestly doesn't believe for a second that she turned back up for a mere visit, especially after yesterday. That was enough to tell him that she had a reason for being here. And whatever that reason was, it grew to be more and more unnerving-

His train of thought was cut off by his senses again. Why did they keep going off like that? Maybe there was a small fly that he didn't notice before that flew past just as his senses told him. Expecting it to buzz by again, he kept his head up, looking around, but nothing came. A pointless waste of his time. He resumed eating his cereal.

Aunt May couldn't get tied up in the middle of this. That was certain. Before, he could've easily made the mistake of doing just that before, until he was warned. Then he remembered who it was that warned him. The Black Widow herself. Now he started to feel somewhat bad that he wasn't giving her enough credit. There was nothing bad on her record, as far as Peter was concerned, excluding her history with the KGB, though that was against her will and she had no say in that whatsoever. He believed, and felt like he knew that she was telling him the truth when she spoke of SHIELD altering his entire life, and not for the better. That was before, though. He couldn't let that one heavy moment of the so-called truth hold him ba-

There was the receptors again, acting crazy. He really wished they'd stop.

Then Gwen came to mind. He was glad she never knew a thing about SHIELD or Romanoff. It was better that way. Coincidentally, when she died, it seemed SHIELD did as well. SHIELD surely knew very much about her, but she would never know there ever existed such an organization. Project Insight. His brain turned its attention to Project Insight all of a sudden. It targeted those who would potentially be a threat. Peter understood very well why he was on that list, but then . . . he wondered. Was Gwen-

This time he was glad his receptors went off. He had no reason to even think about something so sick and twisted. She's finally able to rest in peace. He should leave it at that once and for all. After not keeping his word, and ultimately getting her killed, letting her rest in peace was the most he felt that he could do to make it up to her.

Peter's bowl was now empty, and he got up to place it in the empty sink. He knew this wouldn't take long, so he turned the nozzle and quickly washed out the small bowl and spoon. In the middle of this short process, he heard his phone go off upstairs in his room. At the same time, his senses went off yet again. Too many things were happening at once. Peter just finished with the spoon and very quickly dried his hands, and raced up the steps. He made it in enough time to see who on the screen. It simply showed up as 'Unknown.' Peter was reluctant to answer. But after only having a few more seconds to answer, and having wasted effort to get there, he figured why not.

"Hello?" he said.

"It's me," Natasha's voice came through the phone. It was only a matter of time until he heard from her again. He didn't even bother to think how she knew his number.

"Hey," he simply said, not forcing much of a greeting.

"Leave your place as soon as you can."

"Why," Peter asked, his heartbeat suddenly escalating.

"Since yesterday I noticed this guy who's been following me. I noticed him at Starbucks and then he showed up around my block later that night. I just saw him again some seconds ago. You need to get out of there now. He's obviously seen you as well."

He couldn't process this all in his mind so soon and she was speaking very fast.

"W-Wait, some guy? What are-

"Now's not the time to talk. I'm headed your way now. Be out on the street when you get dressed and lay low."

Before Peter could say anything else, she hung up. With no time to think, he did what he would've done anyway. He changed into a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a gray hoodie. But under all of that, he sneaked his Spider-Man suit on, in case of anything. He did all of this in about a minute. There was nothing else he needed to think about in this case. Time was of the essence. And it kind of helped that his senses were pushing him to move faster. He still didn't understand why. One last thing he took was his phone and web shooters. That's all he needed.

He left the room and headed downstairs for the door. Aunt May got used to him leaving in the middle of the day without letting her know. To her, that was just a part of growing up. Peter could leave whenever he felt like it. She couldn't baby him forever. Peter pulled the hood over his head, and carefully exited the home, locking the door behind him. He stared at the door for a moment after he locked it, not knowing what's to come later. But he felt obligated to leave in order to keep his aunt out of any sort of danger.

Looking to the left and right before continuing down the sidewalk, Peter began to feel his own form of paranoia spring throughout. It made his movements slower, and his thought process a lot harder. Part of him knew he could take them, but in reality he didn't know the first thing about these people – what they were capable of.

Feeling somewhat protected and hidden under the simple hoodie, but only so much, Peter kept his head low, not able to see anyone's face that he passed, only their legs, being enough to not bump into them. He wasn't sure he knew what he was doing. To him, he looked completely obvious. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, His hoodie made him feel secure only to some extent.

That's when he noticed a woman crossing the street ahead. The only thing that really stood out to Peter or that he even cared about was that she wore a hood over her head and that she had red hair. It was enough to tell him that it was Natasha. As the woman grew closer and closer to him, it became clear. She kept looking straight ahead after each step she took, not even looking directly at Peter. The two of them were about to meet at a turn on the sidewalk. Peter didn't know where this was going to go, but all he knew was that he was following her lead. With that, being about an arm span away from each other, Natasha sharply turned onto the other sidewalk, and Peter quickly followed after. They were now side by side, both hooded and incognito.

"How long ago did you leave?" she asked.

"Like five minutes," he stammered. "What's going on?"

Peter began to feel his senses through his body randomly go off again.

"Did you notice anything unusual before or as you were leaving your house?" Natasha asked.

Peter paused momentarily. "My senses have been acting crazy since this morning."

Natasha said nothing.

"The only time they're supposed to do that is when I'm in some sort of danger," he went on.

"That makes sense," Natasha almost muttered.

"Romanoff, what is going on?" Peter demanded, very serious this time.

The spy's expression changed to almost infuriated when he said her name that loud in public. Peter saw it, too, but he paid no mind to it, completely forgetting how dangerous she was herself.

"I think the man who's been following me is a HYDRA agent," she finally said. Peter momentarily lost his ability to breath. "I didn't realize how soon they would go about their operations, but now I know they are. You need to stay hidden."

She began looking around the street as they continued walking, watching out for anything.

"Do you see him yet?" Peter asked.

"No. For all I know he could be on our tail," she replied.

Before he could turn his head around to look, Natasha clutched his arm hard enough to get his attention.

"Don't," she snapped. "Let them only see the back of our heads. They can't tell anything from there."

Peter then thought about her hair, but then he looked and saw that it was also cleverly hidden well from the hoodie. She had then looped around her ears to keep them locked in place so they didn't hang down too low.

"What about the front?" Peter asked.

"Well, then we're screwed," she simply replied. That's the last thing Peter wanted to hear. "There could be more of them. I bet there is."

As they kept walking, Peter kept feeling more and more uncomfortable. Not just from the situation at hand, but from his senses as well. This time it made sense for them to go nuts. But what disturbed them more was that they kept doing so at home. That told him that whatever oncoming danger the two of them were about to face against now more than likely was near Peter since this morning. Somebody was watching him. But they were watching close.

Then the feeling grew deeper. And deeper. Even deeper. Then they took over the rest of him.

With an impulse, Peter grabbed Natasha and forced him and her to duck, barely missing the bullets that just passed over their heads and into the window of a shop right next to them. Some gasps and screams were heard all around them. Natasha was thankful that Peter was there at the right place and the right time.

The pair dove beside a nearby car for cover that was parked conveniently where they needed it to be. Bullets kept ripping through the air down towards them, shattering the windows of the car, and leaving holes all over. Natasha had no clue where the shooters were coming from. From the fire rate and sound of the shots, it had to be from a machine gun. She went with her guess that the shooter, or shooters, had to be on foot as well. From where they were, there was no way someone could be up top due to the height of the buildings. Their aim would have to be deadly accurate to land a single bullet on either one of them.

Natasha finally stopped thinking and started acting. She peeped her head up through the shattered window frame, spotting two armed men dressed in almost normal civilian clothes. It made sense for them to need to blend in as well.

The spy dropped again.

"There's two of them shooting at us," Natasha quickly informed.

Peter didn't respond. He really didn't think he had to say anything. All he knew was that despite him being the Amazing Spider-Man, able to dodge bullets like nothing, he was scared out of his mind. These people wanted him dead for a reason. He knew that. And that terrified him.

Natasha knew she couldn't do much, but she quickly came back up and fired back with her pistol. Not a single bullet landed on either one of them, but the shooters moved out of the way in a heartbeat. They both rolled out of the path of Natasha's bullets. Once they returned fire, she was forced to take cover again. Civilians ran as far as they could from the scene, many in panic and screaming their heads off. That was typical.

Then a hooded man in black was spotted in the middle of the wild crowd with his head down. He was the odd one out. Peter saw that he kept walking their way, slowly, with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Just the look of him didn't feel right. It's as if he had no face. The pace in which he walked was slow and calm, as if chaos wasn't about. Peter knew he had to do something before he did.

As fast as he could, Peter aimed at the hooded man and shot his web, confusing Natasha at first as to what he was shooting at. Noticing this, the man attempted to finally pull out a handgun, but Peter's web reached his gun already. With that, Peter forced the gun out of his hand from a distance. Natasha then shot him down. Almost being fazed by this, Peter then remembered this wasn't the first time he'd seen the Black Widow shoot and kill someone in cold blood.

That's when the two heard a clanking noise sound next to them. They both jerked their heads to it to find a small metallic sphere. Natasha's heartbeat skyrocketed, her eyes widened. He may not have been an expert in warfare, but Peter was smart enough to know what it was. Out of instinct, he grabbed Natasha and jumped out of the blast radius of the grenade ridiculously fast. The two hit the ground still as the grenade went off, and the car hopped in the air with the explosion. With no time to think, the two immediately got themselves up, knowing they were still being shot at.

They rushed through the crowd of screaming people, running away just as much as they were. Both of their hoods came off now, but that didn't matter anymore. They've already seen them. And neither Peter nor Natasha knew how many more of them there were out to kill them.

Natasha spotted an alley coming up across the street as they kept their legs moving, not stopping for anything.

"There!" she pointed. Peter took note of the alley and starting turning his attention to that.

In the middle of crossing the street over to it, more gunshots followed, rushing just behind them and some in front. For Peter it was no worry, but Natasha couldn't afford to get hit. Either way, she knew she couldn't stop running.

Once they barely made it into the alley, the two were met with a gate marking a dead end.

"Hang on," Peter said, taking Natasha by the side.

The two swung over the gate with the aid of Peter's web shooters, and proceeded to escape to safety.

They didn't know how long they were running, but it began to concern Natasha that they didn't stop either.

"We look too obvious!" she noted.

"You wanna stop?!" Peter protested.

Natasha put her gun back into her jacket.

"We need a place to blend in," she said.

"Where?" he asked.

Honestly, she didn't know. Not yet anyways. All she knew was that they were in deep shit this time. And the last thing Peter wanted was to get stuck with her, especially in a situation like this. But he knew one thing: he wasn't about to die.


	7. Chameleon

**Chameleon**

A single nearby gas station in Brooklyn stood nearly empty. There were probably many other places to possibly hide, but not time to think of anywhere else. The bathrooms weren't occupied; only one family bathroom, which perhaps no one ever used. But that was good. The chances of them looking here were moderately lower than some other place in the open. It was still clear as day. It'd only been an hour since Peter left his place.

"I have to call my aunt," said Peter, suddenly remembering.

Natasha was about to go against it, but the chances of them having full access to tapping into all phone conversations were low after the whole incident in D.C. She didn't want to think of it that way, but if this were the last time he could possibly have to hear his aunt's voice again, so be it.

"Okay," she said.

Peter pulled out his phone, went to his contacts and had her name as the first one. He paced nervously as he listened to the dial tone, waiting for her to pick up the phone. If only he wasn't in this situation in the first place there wouldn't need to be a worry about her, or anyone else. Natasha removed her black hoodie and put on her new green jacket. Peter was half paying attention to the fact that she hid her Black Widow suit under all of her clothes. It seemed odd since he could only imagine how much she must have been burning under all of that, but then again, she was the Black Widow.

The dial tone finally stopped, and the connection had been made.

"Peter?" May's voice came through the phone, sounding tired, as she had been resting since he left.

"Aunt May," Peter said, sounding relieved to hear her voice. "It's me."

"Well I know that. I have you in my contacts." Peter smiled just a little.

"I was just calling to let you know . . . that I'm okay – since you haven't seen me at all today – and that I love you."

"I love you, too, Peter. And I hope you're safe. When will you be back?"

Peter hesitated. "I'm not sure yet."

"Well, if you're not back before I leave to go to work I'll call you and let you know, okay?"

"Okay, Aunt May."

"Love you."

"Love you, too," he said one last time. Then he slowly hung up the phone.

Natasha was subtly listening to this the entire time. She may not have heard what his aunt was saying, but hearing what Peter said was enough. She felt utterly guilty for what she did. He's tied up in the middle of this because of her. It was her fault. Apologizing was in her best interest, but right now she had to focus on keeping him and herself alive.

"Just . . . change into your new jacket," she said, holding it out to him. His was navy blue.

They picked up the clothes after they had lost HYDRA. It was a good thing Natasha had much money to spare in her fake bank account; otherwise this would be ten times as hard. When they bought them, they needed to move quickly and back out of sight again. At least they were in New York and not some small town with a population less than one thousand.

"I didn't realize you brought your suit," Peter noted.

"But I figured you'd bring yours," she said, just as he took his jacket off.

Natasha turned to look at herself in the mirror, checking for anything that could be suspicious to the enemy.

"You do this kind of thing all the time?" Peter asked as he changed into his new jacket.

"I did it more recently then you may think," she replied. "The guy I was hiding with could barely fit his clothes. _You_ save a lot of trouble."

"I guess there's a benefit to being skinny."

The spy turned around after realizing that he finished, and checked him, making sure there was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Your hair slicked up even more than when I saw you last time," she said.

"Is that a bad thing?" he wondered.

"No. It looks nice, but that's an obvious feature."

"Uh, thanks."

Natasha turned the nozzle on the sink and cupped some water in her hands. She walked back over to him, doing her best not to let the water spill out of her hands.

"What are you-

Without a chance to ask, Natasha poured the water over his hair. She then began to run her hands all around his head. Peter didn't know what to say as small drops of water rolled down into his eyes and all over his face. This was actually the first time she really touched him. He did save both of them by grabbing hold of her and swinging away from HYDRA, but that was it. To him that didn't really count. This was direct contact, using her actual hands. For some reason it felt strange just knowing that she's doing it. If it were Aunt May, maybe not as much, but still…

Suddenly he found himself fighting away memories of Gwen. The only other girl who would touch him even remotely similar to now was her. He knew now wasn't the time to start thinking about such things, and he held them back.

Natasha had fixed his hair to a less obvious appearance. Since it was wet, it was sitting down and hanging over his face. She put it to where one could barely see the other eye.

"Look in the mirror," she told him.

"It's . . . different," he commented.

"Exactly. You look nothing like before."

"No I don't," he mumbled.

"You need to walk out here with your hood on or your hair's going to start sticking up again."

He put on his hood.

"Listen to me," she said, suddenly sounding more serious than ever. He was all ears. "These people are nearly as good at this as I am, so I can only play my part so well as to keep you out of sight. Which is why I need you to play your part as well."

Peter, while remaining cooperative in every sort of way, not for a second trying to argue between his life being at stake, felt almost vexed by the thought of him having to meet up to her expectations. This was her thing, not his.

"If we work together, they can't win as easily as they think," she continued. Perhaps she had a point.

"But anything I do, I just feel obvious and exposed," Peter said, trying not to sound vulnerable. "You can get away with this stuff way better than I can out in the open."

"The first step to failing at anything is by not believing."

It sounded cheesy, but it was true.

"The first step to _this_ is to blend in with your environment," she went on. "You're still a part of it. They aren't.

Shakespeare's famous phrase came to mind. Peter always heard it being said now and then: All the world's a stage. He didn't understand the full extent of its meaning until now. Peter was an actor on the stage of New York City. Now he had to play his part to the best of his ability, and couldn't think for a second to break character. Because they were watching. His audience was watching. HYDRA was watching.

"You think you're too obvious? So does everyone else," Natasha remarked. "The whole world is insecure. People are going to try and carry themselves just as much as the person in front of them or next to them. People conform. Do it."

As much as Peter hated the idea of following others, he knew he couldn't lie to himself by saying he didn't do it either. High school was a perfect example.

"And lastly, like I said before, believe. First convince yourself that you are who you are, and so will everyone else be."

Peter took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

"I'm gonna get you out of this," she said. "It's the most I feel I can possibly do."

Peter said nothing.

"You ready?" she said.

"I guess," he answered.

The two of them finally walked out of the bathroom, blending in from that point on.


	8. Incognito

**Incognito**

The pair walked down the streets of New York, hooded, disguised. Walking amongst all the people passing by on the streets, no one else knew who they were and what situation they were in. Just the state of oblivion in which Peter knew nothing about a single person who passed by felt more startling than it once did. The enemy was almost invisible, just like them. The world of espionage was a lot scarier than he once presumed.

"So it's obvious now that HYDRA has no interest in ignoring SHIELD's old files anymore," said Natasha. "We thought it was only a slight possibility of them wanting to take action, but I guess we were wrong."

"But what makes them think I'm a threat to them at all?" Peter wondered.

"Because they know you've crossed paths with SHIELD. They know you've talked to us. SHIELD was their enemy. Plus they know what you're capable of."

"So just one talk with SHIELD and I'm automatically on their kill list?"

"Basically."

Natasha looked around briefly to make sure there was no one suspicious possibly watching or following them.

"We can't just hide out while HYDRA keeps plotting against us," Peter said. "We need to do something." Natasha's reaction surprised Peter, as she looked quite surprised by his suggestion as well.

She looked at him and then straight ahead again. They noticed a newspaper stand. One of them mentioned something about Spider-Man. It talked about how he hasn't been showing up on at the scenes lately, and that people were getting worried. But the truth was that Peter had bigger things to clean up this time around. He stared at the paper for a while, and then moved forward.

"Well . . . we sure better do something," Natasha commented.

After a few minutes of silence and the two of them walking to elsewhere, Natasha spoke up again on Peter's idea.

"What did you have in mind?" she questioned.

"About what?" Peter responded.

"About your plan."

"I never said I had a plan. I'm just saying we should do something."

"And you had no idea what a good start might be?"

"Well I'm not an expert at this kind of stuff like you are," Peter argued.

Natasha smiled a little. "We'll think of something. I always do anyway."

* * *

The two of them found themselves checking into a hotel, of all places. Peter had to clue why Natasha did so, but he didn't argue against it either. She said she would think of something, but he guessed she needed a proper place to plan. The hotel wasn't expensive or anything. It was cheap, but it looked decent enough. Either way, Peter didn't really care about that. He was just trying to figure out why they were here.

After they checked in, the two made their way up the steps to their room. Natasha pulled out the electronic key, and swiped it through. They stepped inside, instantly noticing that same hotel scent. It didn't smell bad necessarily, but it obviously stood out. There were two beds. Peter closed the door behind them.

Natasha went over to the nightstand next to the bed she claimed, and sat the key down. Taking a seat on the bed, she removed her jacket, already tired of wearing it so much.

"Hotels are a funny thing," she said. "You have absolutely no idea what's going on behind every door."

Natasha spoke from her own experience as a spy traveling across the world for different missions, nearly all of which involved checking into a hotel of some sort. Peter would have agreed with her, but he was still confused as to why they were here.

"Romanoff, why are we here?" he asked. Once again, he was alone with just her, and it made him uncomfortable. The first time it was at her place, but at least they were somewhere he felt she had no domain over.

"Well, I thought about it, as we were walking outside, potentially exposing ourselves to the enemy," she started. "First, we needed a place to sit down; or rather I did because I need to think this through. Old Cathryn Jones still has lots of money in the bank, so a decent hotel wasn't a bad choice.

"Second, at this point, HYDRA may possibly know my fake identity as Cathryn Jones by now, as they've been watching me closely – for a while now, for all I know – and they may also be trying track me down by hacking into databases of all types of hotels, stores, and whatnot throughout the city, searching for recent places I might possibly have been. I realized that since we can't get to HYDRA, we need to get them to come to us. I know that sounds crazy, but I'll explain in a bit.

"And third, please, you can call me Natasha. I really don't care."

Peter would have found the humor in that last part more, but he was more intrigued by her plan than anything. It wasn't exactly a bad idea, but it was risky, that was for sure.

"I assure you, there's a method to my madness," Natasha said again.

"How are you sure they're going to come?" Peter asked.

"I'm not," Natasha answered, as she got up and went into the bathroom, checking herself in the mirror, fixing her hair. "But like you said, we can't just do nothing. And even if they don't, it's better than being out there."

Peter thought about the stage again. The stage was New York City. He was an actor. He had to keep playing his part. The audience was watching. HYDRA was still watching. But now he was backstage. Whatever he said, it wouldn't be heard. But he had to keep his volume low. The audience couldn't see him, though they would find where he is eventually.

He pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was 12:45 p.m. The day felt slow. He hoped that was a good thing, so that way this whole thing could be taken care of before he can go back home. He worried about Aunt May. He hoped she was safe.

Natasha came back from the bathroom and sat back down on her bed, sitting across from him sitting on his bed. They were about five feet apart. That was good enough for Peter.

"Where did Cathryn Jones come from?" Peter asked out of curiosity.

Natasha smiled and laughed a little. "Cathryn Jones. She was . . . a _real _person," she assured. "But she was also . . . a real bitch."

Peter raised his brow at this. He never expected to hear such a word slip out of her mouth. It kept getting more interesting to see her true side unravel more than her putting on her professional act she tended to show.

"Let's just say she was already destined to have no future," Natasha continued. "She was a privileged spoiled brat who had parents with no discipline whatsoever. They had it coming when their daughter starting acting a mess. So I found her to be the perfect victim."

For some reason it sounded kind of creepy to Peter for her to use the word 'victim' to suit the situation.

"I assume this isn't the first time you've stolen an identity?" Peter guessed.

"Actually it is," Natasha replied. "I would've used the aliases SHIELD had given me before, but I blew all of my covers after it fell apart. That was totally on me, but it was for a better cause. I don't expect to last too long with the cover I have now, since one, it's only a matter of time until someone catches me for identity theft, and two, it's only a matter of time until HYDRA may possibly catch me hiding out here."

"Does it suck to not be able to just walk around with your real name?" Peter asked.

Natasha was silent for a brief moment. "Sometimes. Sometimes it would be nice to not have to worry about someone out to get you every second. That's the only way I know how to live, though. I'm kind of used to it now."

For the second time since they've known each other, Peter actually felt some sort of sympathy for her. It wasn't easy alone trying to live a multiple lives as a nephew, a friend, a student, and a vigilante, but to not have the decency to be honest with both him and others sounded depressing. To be forced to lie but take it a step further seemed just wrong. He couldn't imagine ever getting used to it. But Natasha only did what she had to in order to survive. Peter chose this life. No one asked him to do it. No one told him to do it. And now, he knew for sure that he was glad to not choose SHIELD when he had the chance.

"I don't think I could handle that. Hiding under a bunch of other names . . . it just doesn't sound right," Peter said.

". . . In the world of espionage, nothing seems right or wrong," said Natasha. "If you wanna last in this field, you have to think neutral. For many, that's impossible."

"It is for me."

"And that's okay. At least no one actually knows you're Spider-Man. Now almost everyone knows who I am. What I am."

"You still don't feel honored."

"Why should I? I've done nothing to deserve it."

"You saved lives."

Natasha shook her head. "To the people, I'm a traitor first, and a hero second. No matter what I do, I'm never going to gain the same respect Spider-Man has. It's that simple."

Peter thought for a moment. "Sometimes it's not about what other people think. You just have to know who you are. And accept that, even if they can't. I know I'm always going to be the nerd, and . . . oh well, that's just me."

"And I'm always going to be the bitch," said Natasha.

"No – I mean, I guess if that's what you want to call yourself, I-

Natasha laughed a bit. "Okay, maybe not that, but . . . I see your point."

There was a brief silence between them.

"Who would've guessed that I'd be taking advice from a teenager on how to fit in?" she teased.

Peter actually smiled.


	9. Anticipation

**Anticipation**

Two hours passed. Natasha made her way to the lounge area of the hotel, searching for some sort of snack. She looked around for a nearby vending machine, as usually all decent hotels had one. There were few people in the lounge, one reading a book, another quietly talking on the phone, and the other walking about someplace, probably leaving to go to another spot. So far, so good.

She finally found it in a corner, as if just hiding away from her. Once she got up to it, she began thinking of what to get. There was nothing but junk food, obviously. Chips and candy bars. Natasha didn't want anything too salty, or just too over the top. So she stuck with a bag of Ruffles. It was simple enough. She put her dollar in the machine, and the chips dropped down in the open compartment. Natasha grabbed the bag and headed back to their room.

On her way, she noticed a worker in their signature uniform walking by. But as she noticed him, Natasha picked up a strange vibe from him. Something about him seemed off. She didn't know what it was, but her intuition told her that he wasn't right. Anyways, she kept on back to the room.

Natasha pulled out her card and unlocked the door to the room, immediately noticing Peter in nearly the same position as she did when she left. He sat on his bed with his eyes glued on the television. The news was on. They were covering the incident just a while ago with the ambush. Most footage was that of the burning car that had exploded from the grenade. Shattered glass was also seen surrounding the area as well, including the busted windows of the building behind.

"You can't ever seem to miss anything around here," Natasha commented, as she opened the bag of Ruffles, to which she then held out to Peter, offering some. He said no thanks. She proceeded to eat one.

"What's crazier is that they have no clue it's all thanks to a group of evil secret spies," said Peter. Natasha forced a little sarcastic laugh.

"If that's what you want to call them," said Natasha.

"That's what they are, right?"

"Well yeah, but I never thought of them that way. It's kind of funny." Natasha sat on her bed. "I guess now I know what Americans thought of the KGB years ago."

Some time went by and the two were eventually watching other stuff that was irrelevant to current events. They needed something to take their minds off of it, even though the plan is to attract HYDRA towards them. Natasha finished her bag of Ruffles and threw it in the trashcan, which was in the bathroom.

"I never understood why they put trashcans in the bath-

Three knocks sounded from the door. Both of their heads immediately jerked towards it. Peter's senses were wired up and on full alert. They both exchanged looks for a moment, and then Natasha slowly approached the door. She looked through the peephole with anticipation of some sort of danger and instead saw what seemed sort of anticlimactic. It was the hotel worker she saw before. Natasha was expecting a full-on HYRDA agent wearing black all over with a gun in their hand, but that would be ridiculous, especially in public. However, Natasha remembered something weird about the worker before. She didn't know, but there was something about him. Perhaps he looked too stern. Usually hotel workers don't look that stern, or at least not any she's seen. He seemed rather suspicious.

"Room service," he called from the other side of the door. Natasha cocked a brow.

She looked at Peter. "You didn't happen to order room service in the few minutes that I was gone, did you?"

". . . No," he answered, his heart suddenly escalating.

Natasha turned her attention back to the peephole.

"We didn't order any room service. There must've been a mistake," she called back.

"Are you sure? I could've sworn . . .

Natasha kind of empathized with the guy for some reason now. She didn't know why, but she went with it. The guy didn't have a lot. She didn't want to further waste his time.

"You know, it's okay. You can just leave it by the door when we're ready for it."

Just as she said that, Natasha started walking back towards her bed, barely missing the bullet that just pierced through the door. She immediately dropped down and crouched behind the dresser the TV sat on. Peter too jumped off the bed and hid beside the dresser being protected from the shots coming from the door, as they were both on opposite ends of the room.

The door was kicked open, and in came the same guy, except this time with a loaded Glock. Since he saw Natasha first, his first instinct was obviously to aim at her, but Natasha wasn't going to allow for that so easily. She moved quicker than him, managing to rush towards him, take hold of his arm, knock the gun out his hands, and elbow him in the stomach. The thing Natasha didn't know was that he brought friends. It was three more of them. And one of them came in about to shoot Natasha. Peter shot his web at the gun, sending it out of the guy's hand and sticking to the wall beside him. Peter came racing over from behind the dresser in an attempt to aid Natasha. Then the other came in and tried shooting at him, but Peter too used his web to also take that one out from their hands. He jumped and kicked one of them against the wall, following with a grunt of immense pain from the force of his kick.

Natasha found herself in a chokehold by the so-called hotel worker from before, but she quickly escaped this by flipping her legs up and locking them around his neck. She then proceeded to twist, flipping the guy over, all without injuring herself. He didn't get back up. Peter punched the other guy against a wall, but the agent he kicked before pulled out some sort of device, aiming it directly at Peter's face. Emitting from the device was an extremely bright flash, stunning Peter. His hands covered his eyes, and he stumbled backwards, hitting the dresser behind him. Before the agent could do the same to Natasha, the spy pulled out an electric disk and threw it directly at his neck, following with violent jerks from the volts of electricity.

The last one standing grabbed hold of Peter and roughly threw him against the wall next to him. Peter was only slowly gaining his vision back. However, he partially used his senses to land a kick on the guy, sending him stumbling back, almost tripping. That's when he pulled out a pocket knife. He saw Natasha coming for him. He was obviously very skilled with the knife, as his strikes weren't amateur by any means, but Natasha dodged all of them with much ease, though he did manage to swipe her hair. Once he made the wrong move, she grabbed his wrist and twisted it, causing him pain. She then redirected the knife onto him, thrusting the knife through his chest. Natasha knocked him down by sending her elbow into his face.

Peter stretched his eyes out as he readjusted to gradually gaining his vision again. He wiped his eyes persistently, looking around. Natasha walked over to close the door, which did no good since it was kicked open.

"We need to leave now," she said.

"Yeah, I can tell," Peter replied, still rubbing his eyes.

Thankfully their room came with a window. Outside would be a two-story drop, but where they would land wasn't obvious and out in the open.

"We're taking him," Natasha said, as she made her way towards the first guy dressed in the hotel uniform, making sure she really didn't kill him. She didn't think she did, or she would felt his neck snap when she flipped him over.

"So your plan worked," said Peter.

"It's a start," she replied modestly. "Carry him for me?"

Peter walked over the unconscious HYRDA agent and hoisted him over his shoulder effortlessly while Natasha opened the window. The guy still felt like he was a heavy dude. The only reason Peter was managing to carry him was because of his enhanced strength. She looked down and saw that getting out wouldn't be a problem. But perhaps down wasn't where they needed to go. Natasha lifted her head up at the buildings.

"I think we need to get up on one of those buildings," Natasha said.

Peter looked and saw exactly where she was pointing.

"You wanna go up?" he asked.

"Any other place looks obvious," said Natasha. She was right.

* * *

The man's eyes slowly opened, trying to fight the bright light protruding through. After a few moments, he was fully awake and aware of his surroundings. He was lying down against what felt like a generator. Looking behind him, he saw that it was. He sat on firm concrete, and all he could see ahead were skyscrapers, except he felt higher with them. That's when he realized he was atop one himself.

"We don't have a lot of time, so if you cooperate, it'll both you and I much better," said Natasha sternly. Peter stood next to her. The agent knew what this was about.

"You expect me to talk?" he said.

"Yes, I do," said Natasha. "For your own good, it would do you right to do so."

The man smiled a little, just a little. "You can kill me. It won't matter. _I _won't matter. Because him . . .

The agent shifted his eyes towards Peter. "He's just the first in line for what more's to come."

Natasha's face remained the same. "I'm aware there were bigger men on your hit list that you like to call Project Insight, in which HYDRA unfortunately missed the opportunity to kill. But with the whole operation terminated, how exactly would you guys still manage to accomplish such a mission?"

"HYDRA has no limitations on trial and error. We keep fighting the war. We persevere."

"Cut off one head and another shall take its place," Natasha subtly mocked. "You know there doesn't have to be this war to fight if you all would stop trying."

"There's always a war, Agent Romanoff. There always is. Humanity isn't safe with the likes of you two roaming the planet."

"Look who's talking," Peter remarked.

"Like I said before, kill me now, but it won't mean anything. We'll never stop, especially not until this one's dead."

The agent was obviously trying to scare Peter, which he was half-succeeding at.

"And maybe then we can finally make arrangements for May Parker."

Peter tried to maintain calm up until this point. His face steamed red, and his fists clenched harder than ever before. The mere thought of it infuriated him. Rage replaced all fear. Without hesitation, Peter stepped over to the agent and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him off the ground and bringing him face to face with him. Natasha didn't stop him, but she never saw this side of him before. It was as though he transformed into a different person just then.

"Neither one of you better lay a hand on her," he snapped with pure anger. "Neither one of you!"

Small tears crept out of Peter's eyes as he desperately tried to fight them back. Despite Peter's absolute hatred towards him right now, the agent didn't seem intimidated whatsoever. Though, intimidation was the last thing he would have to worry about. Natasha watched all of this, suddenly changing her expression from emotionless to empathetic. She slowly took a few more steps forward, stopping behind Peter and looking at the agent.

"Where are the other agents hiding?" asked Natasha.

The agent said nothing. With that, Peter threw him off the side of the skyscraper. This caught Natasha off guard, and pure shock drew over her face. At this point, the man was screaming for his life, obviously not ready to die after all, as most of them aren't. Then Peter did something he really didn't want to. He shot a string of web at the agent falling to his death, catching him. Natasha ran to the edge and looked over. She turned her head to look at Peter, who was completely red with anger. Peter pulled him back up, but only enough to where he left him hanging upside down.

"She asked you a question?" said Peter.

Now panicked, the agent quickly responded. "I don't have a specific location! We're all over the place!"

"What about a transmitter of some sort?" Natasha asked. "Every agent has that."

"I . . . it's with my earpiece!"

"That'll work for now," said Natasha.

She then turned her attention to Peter, who looked like he was about ready to drop the guy back down.

"Peter, bring him back up."

He hesitated, still heated up from what he said.

"Peter," Natasha said, sterner this time. "He's not worth it. Okay? We won."

He looked at her, with teary eyes of worry and panic.

The agent found himself back on top of the roof of the skyscraper unharmed. Natasha then bent down and pulled out his earpiece he did his best to keep hidden.

"Thank you," she said, just before knocking him out with a kick across his face.

She looked at the small silver earpiece resting in her palm.

"Now that we have this, we can possibly track the others," she said.

"Good," Peter replied. He then walked off toward the edge, looking off into the distance.

His abrasive side at first alarmed Natasha, but the longer she saw it, it began to actually screw with her a bit. For some reason she couldn't help but feel some ounce of responsibility for all of this. But she had to reassure herself that she's on his side. She's on his side, and that's all that matters. Even if he still doesn't trust her, she's on his side.


End file.
